Escape, utterly impossible.Now from
The standing rules of the convent strictly direct that no sister shall ever look out from a window that does not immediately command the enclosure; that she never shall raise her veil so as to reveal her eyes to a stranger; that she shall never touch any male, not so much as to press the hand of her father or brother. In this convent the “bars” are maintained; that is, long iron bars run up in the centre of the strangers’ room, so as to divide the visitor from the nun he is desirous of speaking to, who can never be seen without the lady superior’s presence, or that of some nun deputed by her to remain as a compulsory listener. Private communications, either by letter or interview, are wholly impracticable. these rules we leave it to the reader to discover the exact degree of benefit conferred by the order upon mankind in general, or the Catholic religion in particular; and in what consists the good example the life affords for the edification of the world and the glorification of God. The generality of the nuns who become inmates of these exclusive convents are ladies whose wishes have been thwarted in the choice of a husband, and those who by a life of gaiety have become at length so disgusted with their own unthinking folly, that they are glad to retire from its scenes under the false belief that the world is devoid of good because they never endeavoured to discover it; some few there are who enter from a supposed vocation, which, as the conventual life is of all others the one most free from worldly trouble, they ultimately attain a decided partiality for its useless industry or placid quietude. Connexion with the world or its affairs ceases from the moment they are professed, and during the noviciate it is the anxious care of the superior to keep from the postulant any information which may endanger the equanimity of her mind, or draw her attention to matters which might possibly lead her to abandon the life of a nun. Even family affairs—such as require the absolute attention of the novice or nun—are at all times made a matter of disagreeable necessity; frequently, if not according with the interests of the convent, a concise note is received stating that ill health prevents the nun attending to the subject, and that the superior is desired to state that such and such a thing cannot be complied with. Should the relative 11feel indignant at such treatment, well knowing that the ill health is a “pious ruse,” as it is termed in conventual phraseology, he may hasten by “Express” and demand an interview with his kinswoman. The trustworthy daughter of the Church placidly crosses her hands upon her bosom, and from behind the stout iron bars meekly assures the imperative relation that the orders of the convent expressly forbid the admission of any stranger whatever within the enclosure; that she dares not, on the peril of her salvation, allow him to see the sister demanded, who is ill in the infirmary,without permission from their holy father, but she will deliver any message. The indignant relative turns upon his heel, and declares he will petition the pope. The abbess smiles, for she has baulked a worldling, and the convent is the gainer by the “pious ruse.” Redress is, in such cases, utterly impossible, the novice is so controlled that her consent is obtained to any proposition which it may suit the convent to adopt, and therefore legal proceedings are useless, whilst the expostulation with the bishop is only bringing the evidence of an accomplice to acquit the prisoner. Only a few years ago three children were left destitute orphans with a half sister, then a notice in one of these convents, who was possessed of a very large fortune.